


A Confession of Fireflies

by tatakurako



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Choices, Existential Crisis, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Internal Conflict, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Miya Atsumu, POV Miya Osamu, Panic Attacks, Pining, Post-Canon, Real Life, Slice of Life, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:47:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25622368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatakurako/pseuds/tatakurako
Summary: The Miya twins strive, stumble, and struggle in their pursuit of happiness.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Akaashi Keiji/Miya Osamu, Kita Shinsuke/Miya Atsumu, Kita Shinsuke/Miya Osamu, Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu
Comments: 12
Kudos: 29





	A Confession of Fireflies

**Author's Note:**

> Helloooooo  
> This is just my self-indulgent take on their sibling rivalry, daily struggles on life, and other things.
> 
> NOTE:  
> This chapter will be on third person but it's strictly an Osamu POV.
> 
> Trigger Warning TW :  
> Emotional breakdowns are present.  
> These themes will probably be constant in this series.  
> Please don't @ me when I have warned you.
> 
> See more notes at the end!

Osamu solidifies his claim in their first family dinner at the end of his 2nd year in high school. He told his grandmother, "Gram'ma, on my gravestone, please write 'Miya Osamu, the happier twin.'"

OR

Miya Osamu hits a slump and navigates life through grit and spite.

~~☼⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷~~☼~~⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷☼~~

In the prime of his life, Miya Osamu had left the glories of his youth as an esteemed spiker in volleyball. Along with his brother, 'Tsumu, he was considered as one of the prodigies during their time as the ultimate setter-spiker dynamic-duo. Osamu had tried to live his brother's dream with him but sadly, his heart wasn't in it. Yes, he performed great--one of the best, some may call. But was he happy there? Did he strive as much as his brother did? No. Will he ever? He thinks not.

So instead of forcing himself to do it every day. Osamu took a leap and broke away from what Atsumu led him to be. Instead, he has chosen the busy and riskier life of a foodie. He starts from scratch as an enthusiast to a modernized chef and entrepreneur in the food industry. It led much to the dismay of his twin brother, who had cherished their partnership in everything since their very first breath had passed their lungs. But for the first time in years, Osamu felt so alive.

After he had informed his family of his plans, Osamu had asked guidance and assistance from his family to set up his first restaurant in Kobe, Hyogo. A newly graduated high school student like him wouldn't have been able to immediately set his own business up like that if he did it all by himself.

Fortunately, the Miyas have been an ancestral family in their hometown. For countless generations, their family had been the designated shrine keepers of the whole prefecture. They are known locally and widely respected in their community in Japan. Needless to say, through all the offerings they have had for how many hundreds of years, their family is wealthy and extremely influential. They're not sons of a Zaibatsu but Osamu believes they have more than what is needed.

Nevertheless, even though it offers stability, Osamu doesn't want to get old watching over a shrine. Thankfully, he and 'Tsumu have other cousins for that. Osamu wants to be hands-on and has direct control over something that he likes and something that he can do on his own. Sure, he wouldn't deny the financial support given by his loving grandma but he swears anything after the first restaurant will only be through his efforts alone.

Three years have passed since he has graduated from high school and a lot has happened. One of which is constantly living under the curse of the erratic, stressful, and restless daily non-routines.

Each grueling day, the gravity of his choices start to manifest and none of them look any brighter.

While the gravity of his choices seem to. He couldn't give up and let his dumb brother win the stupid bet. Yes, he is aware it's stupid but bets with 'Tsumu meant all or nothing. He will _**NOT**_ be inferior to that muscle-brain.

Osamu solidifies his claim in their first family dinner at the end of his 2nd year in high school, he told his grandmother, "Gram'ma, on my gravestone, please write 'Miya Osamu, the happier twin.'"

He was met with a smack on the back of his head and was chastised for the rest of the afternoon. Osamu may be the more subdued twin but since his decision to quit volleyball, 'Tsumu's hunger can eat his fucking ass.

He's sacrificed so much more.

He's setting his own path.

He will be happier.

Absolutely.

~☼~⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

·

·

·

A chime breaks the comfort of silence in a dark little hotel room in Tokyo.

On its second ring, sheets slowly rustle. A groan follows in harmony. Waking from his sleep, Miya Osamu groans as he jostles on the mattress. He unceremoniously flips from his side as he starts searching for the nagging phone in the many layers of the thick blankets spread across the bed. Osamu was still tired yesterday. The business meetings he has had flooded his schedule for the past three days and it has left him feeling very wrung out. His grand plans to expand a branch of Onigiri Miya in Tokyo have been chipping up his time and his sanity since this year started.

The chime rings again. He groans once more--this time, in annoyance. Hell bent on willing himself back to sleep, he buries his head underneath the pillows. Commitments be damned. Knots have formed on the creak of his neck. His shoulders feel stiff, his back throbbing. He doesn't feel rested. He remembers collapsing on the bed immediately after entering the cold hotel room last night--not bothering to change out of his clothes.

The alarm continues to irritate him and it finally makes Osamu crack an eye open.

Believing his pillows can offer him sanctuary from the racket is one of his mistakes. His body still aches and feels weak. The abundance of work and stress has finally taken a toll on him--which bothers him terribly. Is fatigue a sign of disinterest?

No. Of course not. At least, for him, it shouldn't be.

He had been on rigorous training for volleyball and competed against his single-brain-celled twin brother since he came out of his mother's womb. Now, even after high school, he has kept himself toned due to habit and running a restaurant hasn't been a walk in the park. So yes, he's used to physical fatigue. He realized, what he thinks that has tired him out more than anything, is the frustrating social interaction.

Normally not up for formalities, Osamu had to rewire himself to be somewhat socially acceptable. Having grown up with a nasty and self-centered asshole like 'Tsumu, he had been accustomed to resort to trash-talking as his mother tongue. He has to be better than a shit-stain, he vowed to himself.

That being said, keeping up pretenses, smiling when he never means it, and choosing his words for more polite alternatives really takes a toll on him. How Kita-senpai does this "being courteous" thing for his whole life, Osamu will never understand. It must be a superpower--to deal with other people's bullshit all the time. Probably why he fears him the most.

He can't help but feel worried from still feeling drained. Being roused up with that sudden noise that also furthers how lousy his morning headspace is going. He wants to sleep more but--Osamu starts to tap blindly at the space beside him--he can feel his thick eyebrows furrow as the alarm starts to blare louder. Saying a quiet prayer, his mind is begging for it to stop. 

_For fuck’s sakes please… Please, lemme take a break._

Osamu continues for a few more seconds until he ultimately decides to give up, get up, and go straight to the bathroom.

He closes the door and sighs in relief. The sound of his phone is now finally muffled and bearable. Feeling cramped, he tries to stretch the dead joints of his body, forcing them to wake up as he had. It's painful but it works.

Osamu leans his large frame towards the tiniest sink he has ever seen and opens the faucet, readying to wake himself up with cold water. Everything feels too loud for him, the water coming out from the faucet sounds like a strong downpour of rain.

Firmly, he clutches the sides of the porcelain bowl and prays for sanity before he looks up to the mirror to see his reflection. Disappointed in what welcomes him, his foul mood starts to brew. In front of him, he sees his gaunt and tired face, pale with bags under his deep-set eyes, lips cracked, hair in full disarray and still in the darkest shade of black, Osamu looks like--

_Well, I look like shit._

Osamu groans again at how his day is starting. It has been like this for how many weeks already and he believes that no sign of improvement will come to his life any sooner. He scrunches his face with his hands in frustration. He peeks through his fingers and looks at the mirror.

_Ya wanted this._

He waits. Only the harsh gush of the splattering sink responds.

_This makes ya happy, right?_

He stares hard at himself, begging to find an answer. Maybe a twitch in his face might give him a sign but he is met with none.

Osamu swallows but immediately regrets it. Grimacing at the bitter taste in his mouth, he lowers his head in submission and sighs for the second time of the day.

⊶~☼~⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

After washing up, he finally feels a bit better. Osamu huffs a breath and waddles outside of the bathroom to look for his demonic phone again. Thankfully, the ringing has stopped. It probably just snoozed itself to give him another ten-minute head-start.

He stares at the void in front of him. The lonely and freakishly tiny hotel room that he has been staying in for the whole week. Accommodations in Tokyo are fucking expensive, okay? He thought having a budget of 5,000 yen a night was already splurging. When he saw this room however, he felt like he had been dumped by a bucket of water. It felt like he had been scammed.

It looks so fucking normal, mundane, boring--he finally lands on the word he was looking for. It was boring. Probably why the room was "cheap" for a one bedroom with relatively thicker walls than capsule hotels. Waking up to this depressing visage each day increases the damper on his soul. Had he been so accustomed to glamour that it made it difficult for him to accept simpler things?

Their accommodations during their high school volleyball meets in Tokyo had been so lavish. Queen-sized beds with layers upon layers of comforters per person and larger baths for crying out loud. He only realized that Inarizaki is a private school, and they had probably given the volleyball club a significant portion of their budget due to their impressive performance as a powerhouse team.

In comparison to this... _shithole._

He shakes the thought off his head. He doesn't want to be self-critical today. He doesn't want to live in the glories of his past. They have no value now.

_We don't need memories... Right?_

Given that, he's surprised with how little light is passing through the curtains of his hotel room, the hotel must have invested in them. It's well into the morning at around 8AM. A ray gently touches the surface of the obscenely dusty shade of wallpaper--giving the cold color a warm sheen. He tries to lock this into his mind, maybe this time, the divine is using this to give him a sign. Kita-senpai had chastised them before that someone is always watching their every move. Osamu hopes that someone may have seen how he struggles for an answer. He stares at it, challenging a ray of light, as if it's gonna give him the answer he has been looking for.

Channeling his inner Kita-senpai he tried to think in prose.

_"Light can pierce through anything--a small crevice is all it takes."_

_A lil bit'o elbow grease goes a long way, I guess._

Osamu translated his own Kita-senpai-like thoughts as he continues to stand quietly in the small hallway.

With that, he feels hopeful for the day and starts to get back in his normal work groove. He hopes that the effort he puts into today's meeting would give him the results he had been wishing for.

Going for efficiency, he decides to pull all the sheets and shake it off until it drops the damn phone--it's not there.

_Did'cha run?_ He thought stupidly.

Mild panic starts to seep in. His phone has most of his schedule for the rest of his stay in Tokyo. He starts to flip everything on sight, praying for the fucking annoying sound to come back. When he was about to go through the trash, Osamu finally remembers that he decided to sabotage his own morning himself so he could wake up on time to prepare for his nth business meeting. 

He finds the phone tucked inside the bedside table--sighing for the third time, but now for relief.

He checks for messages. 3 from his mom, 1 from his grandmother, 1 from his father, 9 from 'Tsumu, 2 from lease brokers, and 1 from Kita-senpai. He chooses Kita-senpai's first.

**_Kita-sen_ **

_Thursday_

_Good luck today.  
_[4:28AM]

 _Thanks! Hope yer field is doin' great.  
_[9:11AM]

 _Meeting today was worse than yesterday.  
_[1:44PM]

 _Of course they're doin' great. I have been tending them.  
_[6:28PM]

 _Remember to be polite.  
_[6:29PM]

 _Eat yer dinner.  
_[7:06PM]

_Today_

_Good luck today.  
_[4:37AM]

Kita-senpai had been messaging him the same short messages since he left for Tokyo. Today is no different. It always starts with the same words. Same characters. The ritual comforts him. His captain, now his supplier and business partner, still keeps extending his kindness--his long-distanced security blanket. Osamu had wanted to wean himself off from relying on their captain but that won't be the case apparently.

_Mornin'. Hope yer crops are doin' well. Will let'cha know how it works out. Later.  
_[8:16AM]

He checks his other messages. He chooses 'Tsumu's next.

**_Bootleg_ **

_Today_

_Oi. Are ya still sleepin'?  
_[7:06AM]

 _Look what'cha gettin'ta become.  
_[7:06AM]

 _Fat-ass.  
_[7:07AM]

 _Btw  
_[7:07AM]

 _I told Bokkun ya went 'ta Tokyo.  
_[7:07AM]

 _He says  
_[7:08AM]

 _Tokyo is his world or somethin'.  
_[7:08AM]

 _He can ask someone to guide ya in case you get lost.  
_[7:09AM]

 _Holla back if ya want his help.  
_[7:15AM]

Osamu doesn't want to ask for help. But he is also getting tired from all the monotony and bleakness. He'll think about it but this fucker deserves to be left on read. So he does.

He skims through the rest and opens the lease broker's last, shifting his mood towards his business ventures.

**_Okuda-san (Lease Broker #2)_ **

_Today_

_Good morning, Miya-san.  
_[8:02AM]

 _Please don't forget about our meeting later at 11 in the café. Further details of the meeting can be found in our e-mail thread.  
_[8:03AM]

Now that he has his agenda mapped out in his mind. He sets to work. He gets another set of his black ensemble of a simple pair of pants and a fitted shirt--a practical choice to lessen the time needed to match clothes--from his travel bag. He smashes his trusty black cap on his untidy hair, unhooks his cloak, pats his pockets for his necessities, and sets out for the day.

⊶⊷⊶~☼~⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Osamu finds the café with the address mentioned in the meeting invitation. After walking for ten minutes from his hotel while reading the rest of his warm messages from home. The autumn wind in the streets of Tokyo brings a cold bite on his skin. He’d want a hot drink to heat him up. Osamu steps forward to the welcome mat. The glass doors slide open for him and he sees the modern interiors of the café better.

The man in black nods and takes note of what his experience of this shop would be and reminds himself what not to do for his shop's ambience. Like other trends in coffee shops, it has a mix of exposed concrete and wood finish, dark furniture, warm lights, and dark tiles--professional, practical, a bit cozy but still somewhat pretentious. Fitting, considering how over-priced their fucking coffee is.

Since it's only around 8AM, the shop just barely opened and is still near empty, with only a couple of people scattered in different tables. The cashier, a girl with a ponytail, stutters a greeting to welcome him, looking surprised at the sight of him. By the time he stepped in front of the counter, the cashier had to bend her poor neck back to have a proper angle at his face.

_Not this again._

Osamu walks forward and awkwardly tries to read the menu, trying to avoid eye-contact. He regrets not bringing a mask to avoid this kind of interaction. The fatigue really botched his judgement today. He scans the menu at least three times and--when he thinks that he has delayed this long enough--he orders hot green tea in a mug and asks for their best-selling pastry.

She stares at him, not yet acknowledging his order, and says "Are you Miya Atsumu? I'm a fan of MSBY!" she screamed at the towering figure.

A vein pops in his forehead. Being mistaken for his meathead brother as his first social interaction for the day really pisses him off but he tries to become civil. If things go well, he might set up his business around here so it's best to be nice.

"Ah, yer mistaken," Osamu tries to smile through his scowl.

"You even sound like him! Oh my gosh," the cashier's eyes widened.

"D'just like to have my green tea... please."

"Oh! Yes, of course! That will be 350 yen," she operates the cashier and hands Osamu the vibrating coaster. "Please wait for your call."

Osamu hands her his payment, gives her an awkward smile--though, it would probably look like a smirk--and walks to find a seat inside, preferably far from the cashier's line of sight.

The staff scurries to the back room hopefully to make the hot tea--a thing that baffles Osamu because it only takes 20 seconds to do so. Pouring hot water then dumping teabag in a cup isn't rocket science and they were all in front of the shop… but Osamu just knows it's just her getting her phone and to tell her friends about "not" Atsumu.

He settles on a single lounge chair at the furthest part of the store. Because of his insanely packed schedule, he would really not want any additional social interaction with people. He's not the sociable and attention-seeking whore like his brother.

Osamu can still see the street from his view and tries to watch the passing people as he tries to burn out time while waiting. An hour early from schedule, he needs to do something for entertainment.

Sick of his phone, he chooses to play the 'Assumption Game' alone--a horrible thing that he and his twin used to play to pass the time and cast nasty judgments on people who are passing by. The more absurd their guesses are, the more fun they had... It killed time, okay? Sue 'Tsumu, not him. He's the one who made the game. He's the nasty one. With his elbow on the arm rest, and a hand nestling his cheek, he starts to play.

He sees a high school girl walking as she was shouting in her phone.

_An insecure and controlling girlfriend._

A man extremely drunk, struggling to walk, and collapses at the sidewalk.

_Probably has a wife and 3 girlfriends._

An old lady, walking slowly with a paper bag full of fresh bread from the shop beside this.

_Spoils her grandchildren... dearly._

A group of boys guffawing loudly about something.

_A bunch of idiots._

Call it being prejudiced but the city life never really appealed to him. The concrete and constant flashing lights, the cramped spaces, the noise--Osamu hates all of it. With all the people he has talked to in the past few days, he has led to the conclusion that he abhors Tokyo. With how greedy the businessmen he had met up with, he had thought how the people aren't as nice as the people back in Hyogo. The air also here isn't as clean. The food isn't as warm.

_Well if they had'ta pay so much rent for shitty rooms, their personalities will really be rotten._

He blinks lazily as he studies the people when the phone in his pocket suddenly starts to vibrate and he struggles to get that small chunk of technology while he's seated—so he stands. He hears the doors slide open, the cashier staff, greeting once more, and he can't help but check out who went in.

A thought suddenly buzzed through his mind that he can't believe he thought upon instinctively seeing what he had seen. He really wouldn't want to share what it was.

He wears a thick and long beige coat that smoothly drapes on his shoulders and frames his lithe body. The cream turtleneck he's chosen to wear underneath makes him seem so cold but also so warm. He's shivering, rubbing his hands for a bit of friction. The collar ends perfectly bellow his chin, tucked against the autumn wind, his cheeks blushed themselves for heat--which is fucking cute. His dark glasses, a bit askew on his nose, accentuate the soft dip of his eyes. The fluff of his hair waves up like he just got out of bed. Even if that's the case, he still looks breathtaking. Tall, dark and handsome, as they call whatever the fuck attractive people are.

Osamu feels a small tinge in his stomach. Is it familiarity? Or something different? Never mind that. He knew this person. He just couldn't put a name on him. For some reason, looking at him makes him remember 'Tsumu's teammate, Bokuto. Did he play against them during high school? Is he from Fukurodani? The name of the school suddenly makes it click for him altogether.

_Fukurodani's setter._

He finally remembers him—but still not his name. He would want to know that...but how? As much as he would want to go up to talk to this man, it would seem rude to just call him 'Fukurodani Setter' across the room—not to mention look like a fucking idiot.

Frustrated, he irritatingly starts to tap the arm rest. Yes, he doesn’t want to interact with any other people but a familiar face in the middle of the cold and unwelcoming city of Tokyo is something he so desperately needs right now. He needs to be with someone he can feel on ground with.

_That person was a setter. Tsumu’s a setter. That must mean something._

Sure, that logic is infallible, right? He scoffs at himself. Either way, Fukurodani's setter seems trustworthy, good enough to talk and ask about the city, right? He needs another objective output of a local, he thinks. Osamu wracks his mind, trying to rack his brain with the name of the said man who's just about done giving his order and walking over to a seat beside the wall-length windows.

_Perfect. He won' see me from here._

Osamu watches the raven-haired mystery-man relax on his seat. The man pulls out a laptop from his leather bag and starts to unpack. He also takes out a planner and a pen and starts to write something.

_He seems so busy though. Judgin' by how he looks right now. He seems like one of 'em preppy boys._

Osamu now observes as the fluffy-haired man has stopped writing. He had decided to close the notebook and put it and the pen down the coffee table gently. The ex-setter puts his hands over his knees and then proceeds to stare at the wall in front of him with extreme intensity, the wallpaper could set ablaze any time now.

_Dude, what's happening to 'im? Is he alright?_

After what seems to be a full minute, the man suddenly slaps his hands to his face and lurches forward. His whole form crunched like a man in defeat looked so tense and rigid as if he's like being electrocuted.

_Holy shit._

With his mouth agape and his eyes widening, Osamu was paralyzed with what he's witnessing. Should he check him up? Is that normal in Tokyo? Why is nobody reacting? Oh my fucking god. Osamu is now restless and is mildly panicking. He can't believe he's watching a person have a meltdown and see people not care. Kita-san would handle this situation better—yes, he definitely would.

He looks over to the cashier. Now begging if the girl can see him to signal if he can ask her to check him up. He's fidgeting on his seat for a better view. Osamu wants to give them the benefit of the doubt, maybe they just haven't seen the bizarre spectacle.

By this time, he doesn't know if this is what's considered normal for city people--fuckin' crazy shits--but he sees that the cashier had a clear view of the man breaking down in the middle of the shop. And she even had the audacity to chuckle. He has heard of city people being different but he had never thought of them being this cold-hearted.

_Tokyo people are some sick fucks._

The cashier finally decides to leave her station with a tray with what seems as his order on it. She was walking towards him and he was gonna give her a piece of his mind. As a restaurant owner--no, as a compassionate being--customer service shouldn't be like this. He breathes and still wants to do this calmly. Giving her the benefit of the doubt, he lets her talk first.

"Uhm, excuse me, sir. Your order has been ready for a while now," she says this with a warm smile as she lays the tray and begins to serve his order on his table. The huge mug of hot tea still and the plate with some sort of cute pastry was there.

"I decided to bring it here because you haven't been responding to the electric coaster I gave you earlier. It has been going off for a while now," she gestures at it kindly. Osamu blanks.

"Is everything alright?" she then inquires. Looking somewhat alarmed as she studies his face.

Going for a mile a minute, Osamu's thoughts try to process what's happening. He blinks, dumbly staring back at the female staff. He knows one thing for sure and his heat dissipates.

_The staff aren't cold and heartless._

"Why did’cha ignore that man who looks like he's dying?" it slips out of him.

They both looked at the tortured man in the back.

"Oh, you mean, Akaashi-san?" her voice still sounds chipper.

_Shit, I said that out loud._

He chooses to nod his response now instead.

"He's a regular here. That happens to him all the time when he's super-stressed. You don't need to worry for him," the girl, still smiling, waves her hand in the air, dismissing it.

"Oh-okay... Thanks," Osamu gives his rattled response. The explanation seems so absurd but when he looks over to see the supposedly grieving man, he sees that the man in the beige coat is back to sitting up straight and intensely staring at the wall.

The cashier then walks back to their counter and brings another tray over to the man called "Akaashi-san.” She engages him in conversation as well. Osamu sees how the raven-haired man’s face has reverted back to the most serene facial expressions Osamu has ever seen—aside from Kita’s. No one would’ve guessed that this man was in the middle of a breakdown thirty seconds ago.

"Akaashi-san! I told you not to have breakdowns where people can see you." the cashier teasingly berated. "You're gonna scare all my customers away."

"Oh, I'm sorry Mari-san. Did I scream loudly again?" Akaashi said sheepishly.

_Again???_

Osamu starts to snort, he brings up a fist to his mouth to muffle down his laughter. More than anything, he laughs at how absurd the roll of his emotions have gotten through this early in the morning.

"No, but you scared the hell out of the other customers! They're panicking right now--"

Osamu pulls the visor of his cap down. Like fuck if that makes him vanish. At least, at this rate, he won't be recognized.

She cut herself and tried to whisper the following words but it was still loud enough for Osamu to hear. "He's really hot and he looks a lot like Miya Atsumu--I want him to be a regular here!"

He couldn't resist and chose to move his visor a bit and peeked.

_Man, Tokyo people really are…_

As if they heard him, the pair had turned over to look at him. It made their eyes locked on each other. Both his mind and body had completely frozen over. His eyes widened, like a deer on headlights. The man, Akaashi-san, looked at him so intently, Osamu slowly feels a bloom of warmth creep up on his neck. It had been a while since someone has stared at him that way. This is what the wall must've felt like because he feels so paralyzed by the other's eyes even when they're 10 meters away from each other.

_Am I gonna get punched? There’s no way they heard me._

The raven-haired man suddenly stood and he seemed like he was bound for Osamu. He was thanking the female cashier and was about to step forward when the welcome chime broke through the ambient music of the café. The sliding doors had opened and—

“AKAAASHIIIII-SAAAAN~!!!”

A mop of extremely unkempt hair suddenly tackled Akaashi. The loud body slam resounded across the room. He had a manila envelope tucked under his arm and had started rubbing his cheek on the arm of the beige coat Akaashi is wearing.

“Akaashi! I’m so sorry I’m late I had to cram and ink the last few pages and I got lost in the subway—”

“Tenma-san…” Akaashi says calmly. He said it so softly but Mop-guy immediately let go and knelt at the floor, arms spread outward with the envelope like a sacrifice for a Mayan ritual.

“I’m done! I offer you this manuscript and any food of your choice—from this café—as my way of apologizing my tardiness!” Mop-guy cried on the floor.

Akaashi stared at the envelope then at Mop-head’s head. The raven-haired man stood there in silence as a few seconds passed. He sighs as if he has decided to forgive and takes the envelope from Tenma.

“I want an extra-large bowl of Gyuudon from the place we ate for lunch yesterday. We’ll go there after walking through your manuscript,” Akaashi says as he leaves Mop-guy—Tenma—still kneeling on the store floor.

“B-but that’s way more expensive!!!” Tenma screeches and scrambles to the table.

“Yes, yes,” Akaashi dismisses him.

"Akaashi-san... You're a meanie," Tenma pouts.

Akaashi hums as he opens the envelope.

Even from a distance, Osamu finds the exchange amusing. It reminds him of the times Kita-senpai disciplines their team from all the chaos the members have brought upon themselves. Especially when 'Tsumu starts to plot a prank against Aran. Passive but stern. Blunt but graceful. Like Kita-senpai, Akaashi handles the whirlwind of the man in front of him and not let it bother how loud his wails have started since they dissected the contents of the envelope.

Just when things have started to settle down, Akaashi and Tenma's meeting is going full swing. The cries of the author can be heard from all corners when Akaashi says something has to be revised. The shop's welcome chime cuts through the noise and notes the entrance of another customer while the doors slide open again.

Now, it's two men in suits. They look like a comedic duo with frog-like features more than anything. One man was tall and skinny with a bowler hat. The other was short and stout... yes, like a teapot. They're walking towards his table so they're probably the people he's gonna meet today for the leases of the shops in the area.

The meeting for today is with lease brokers for the commercial area here in Tokyo. He had been eyeing areas close to major intersections or subway entrances--prime locations that cost a lot to rent but would give him a lot of business traction in return.

Osamu stands again and greets them, shakes their hands with a fake smile slapped on his face and proceeds to act on autopilot in his business mode. He removes his cap because Kita-senpai said it was good manners to do so.

They introduce themselves but he forgets their names immediately. He subtly grinds his teeth as he blindly asks for the divine being patience throughout the whole meeting. He may lose his chance in approaching Fukurodani's setter, possibly his only reset point--his escape from the cold hostility of Tokyo.

_Reset point, huh? This isn't volleyball... Get'cha mind of the gutter, 'Samu._

In the corner of his eye, he sees Akaashi and Tenma readying to leave their table. He becomes restless and he starts to tap his leg. They're gonna leave. It's like seeing his teammates leave from school first and he stays behind to do more study work. Normally, that would be 'Tsumu but he usually has to stay behind to wait for each other. Their parents, especially their Gram'ma, have told them that they have to stick together at all times.

He tears his eyes away, silently saying farewell to a possible friendly interaction, he looks back to the men in front of him as they discuss another part of their agenda. He has to let them go. He has to focus.

"If you want to get the landlord's discount, the deadline for the lease application of the ideal spots will be by the end of the week, Miya-san," one of the men had addressed him. Their voices so reedy, like a couple of frogs gargling on helium. They tap on a specific line in the paper.

"You should decide immediately. Tomorrow would be the best so we can help you process the necessary requirements for the application. We have to think of the construction for renovations and the--" They droned on and on, and continued to tap on the paper again as if they can emphasize how his decision is to make sure this thing progresses forward.

Osamu nods to let them know that he understands. As if he hadn't studied these for months now. As if he hadn't anticipated it for years since he decided in high school. He has. He has always been thinking of it because it has been his morning routine for years. He had been so prepared for this moment.

But why does he still feel so scared? He had planned this. Calculated it. Saved money for it. He researched properly and looked at every angle on how to further his business. It would be beneficial, right? He should be confident in this choice. He had checked and re-consulted at least five times to ten different people--including paid specialists. It was the best option but how come he still feels so unsure? Why is it that the papers in front of him, neatly fanned out and organized, look so daunting?

It is his first time doing this alone. Officially, at least. On his pilot branch, he still had the help and guidance from his parents and the supportive shit-talking of his volleyball-brained brother. And now these old privy men had started questioning his intents and purposes for renting a prime spot in the city. It's their job but--

He starts to spiral.

He sees the people in front of him talk animatedly and only hears garbled voices like they're underwater.

Osamu holds on his knees tight and he looks down.

It had been a while since this happened.

_Easy..._

_Breathe.._

He tried to take a long, deep breath to calm down but he couldn't draw anything.

Panic starts to set in then--

"Miyaasam?" a voice pulls him back up. He raises his head towards the voice and he sees Akaashi standing near their table with a gentle smile on his face. Mop-head--Tenma is just around his shoulder, looking wary.

For the second time today, he just blankly stares. He blinks fast.

Again.

Confused.

He breathes.

"Ah, yes. It is you. How have you been?" he continued to ask so refreshingly.

"I--err... Am fine?" Osamu answered. Unsure.

"That's great to hear," Akaashi's smile becomes warmer.

Osamu exhales. He just realized that the reason why he couldn't breathe in a fresh gulp was because he was still holding one in.

"Excuse me, but who are you?" One of the brokers had decided to butt in, his tone condescending.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he doesn't sound like it, "I'm friends with Osamu-san from high school. We played volleyball together," he said that like it explained everything. That had warranted him a reason to ambush a meeting.

"I just had to say hello. It has been a while," Akaashi added.

The tall one grunted about how the young ones don't know how to respect their elders anymore. The other grumbles loudly in agreement. Honestly, they're the assholes in this situation.

Fearless. Akaashi continues.

"Tenma-san and I are going to eat lunch in the Gyuudon place around the corner--it's his treat. Just go right when you exit this shop. You can follow after you're done with your meeting. We'll save you a seat."

He casually slips a card on the table. Osamu could not believe those were a setter's hands. They look so thin and frail.

"You can call me in case you get lost.”

With a small bow, Osamu scoffed at this, Akaashi had turned around and dragged Mop-head out with him.

"A-Akaashi!?!" Tenma screeched as he scurried his feet to follow.

Stunned by what just transpired, Osamu gapes. His eyes glued at their retreating silhouettes as they exit the café. He turns to the table and looks at the piece of card placed there and picks it up with his hand.

"Young people nowadays!" Skinny old frog had scoffed.

Osamu raises his head again and pays attention to the old men in front of him.

_Right. I have a meeting._

"Miya-kun--can I call you Miya-kun?" Osamu didn't manage to respond before he continued. "A hard-working man like yourself shouldn't be rattled by whatever people your age should be spouting. You are a good lad. You're doing the good and mature thing. In your age, I have--" he started to drabble on again.

He looks at the old froggy men. Still quiet. Trying to process how his morning really hasn't gone how he expected it to be. Osamu guesses, with how offended the men have been by Akaashi, he can't check the card while he's still in front of them. He pockets it in his coat and finally addresses the two men.

"Ma' dear gentlemen," he cuts through, having enough of their bullshit, "I'm very glad 'ta have done this meeting but since there's still much 'ta consider, I should think about it more before I can make 'ta final decision," Osamu says firmly, professionally, hoping to end the meeting as fast as he could.

"Yes, of course. Take the whole day to decide. But we must take action as early as possible. Strike while the iron is hot!" The shorter exclaimed, he wrings his fist mid-air.

"I will think about it. Thank ya kindly for yer good counsel. I will give ya a call by tomorrow," he courteously bows, offers a smile and leaves the meeting.

He hears the cashier bid him to come again and he turns to give her a short wave just before exiting.

⊶⊷⊶⊷~☼~⊶⊷⊶⊷

As soon as he crossed the doors, Osamu turned right and started to walk to the direction Akaashi had pointed. He copped his pocket for the card.

_Akaashi Keiji_

_Shounen JUMP!, Editor_

_Contact no.: (XX) XXX - XXXX XX_

_E-mail: akaashikeiji@shueisha.jp.com_

_Shueisha Building, Chiyoda-ku, Tokyo_

He has read the contents of the card in one glance but he chooses to look at it a bit longer.

_So his first name is Keiji… Honestly, I didn't really think I'd learn his name this easy. Come 'ta think of it, he called my name earlier._

He puts the card back in his pocket and starts to scan for the restaurant.

Myaasam. Miya Osamu.

_He said my name and not 'Tsumu's._

_It sounded so nice._

He wants to hear it again.

He starts to jog.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶~☼~⊷⊶⊷

Osamu finds the restaurant and sees that it's a packed izakaya. Unlike the stuffy coffee shop, this seems more like his element. He smiles as he removes his cap and gets a whiff fried meat that makes his stomach growl. It's already past noon, he has not eaten anything yet except for the small pastry. Osamu is now hungry. Very.

He finds the spot where Akaashi and Tenma are seated. With three large bowls, the table seems so tiny. The two of them saw him and tried to wave him down and catch their attention. Akaashi looks at him unapologetically as he has his cheeks full with his meal. Tenma, on the other hand, seems so jittery and couldn't decide if he would stand or sit or eat or talk.

Osamu raises a hand as a greeting and sits with them. For the first time in his stay here in Tokyo, he feels welcomed. It has been a while since he has eaten with people he met back in high school. Although, should this count as that? Technically he didn't remember Akaashi until this morning.

"Hey," he smiled as he sat at their small table, opposite Mop-head. He had difficulty in settling in. Curse his larger-than-average Japanese frame. "So, er, what're we eatin'?"

"Ah, uhm, Akaashi already ordered for you. It's extra-large gyuudon. It's the special here." Mop-head finally chose to speak, still flustered.

"Oh ya, this is great. Thanks," Osamu takes a bit and groans with how good the food is. He wolfs down more of his bowl then drinks from his bowl of broth.

"Yeah," Akaashi supplied between munches.

Osamu and Tenma both looked at Akaashi. Was Akaashi trying to say something? But he just proceeded to take another bite. They proceeded to look at each other, finding an explanation. It was such a late response but it felt like he had to say something. He just took another large bite. His expression is blank but his eyes are still piercing. Clearly, very hungry and could not be bothered.

Probably bothered by the silence and Akaashi's lack of hosting abilities because of his uncommon eating ritual, Mop-head tries to stir a conversation.

"So, er, Akaashi has told me that you're Miya Atsumu's brother, the professional volleyball player?"

"Ah, yah. That's me, his bro," Osamu remembers that he still had manners and introduced himself even though they probably know who he is already. "Hey, er, I'm Osamu by the way. Miya, Osamu." He slides them one of his business cards each.

Akaashi took his card. Bowed--or more like nodded--and proceeded to eat again. Still wouldn't talk.

"Oh I'm Udai Tenma, I'm an author. Akaashi-kun is my editor," he looks at the card. "Wow! You own a restaurant!"

"Er, yea, I try to cook." Osamu smiles bashfully.

"Onigiri Miya? Isn't that one of the sponsors for Bokuto's team, Akaashi?"

Akaashi, staring at a distance while eating nods--mouth still preoccupied.

"Yeah, it's mine. Gotta take care of yer brother, my Gram'ma would say."

"Is that why you're here? To expand your restaurant?" Tenma asks in awe.

"Er, yea. It's something that I've been meaning to try. I wanna share my food with others."

This makes Akaashi focus his stare back at Osamu--which somewhat unnerves him. Was what he said wrong? Akaashi then proceeds to stare while chewing.

"Ah yes, of course. Your brother is there also. It would make sense," Tenma eventually explained to himself.

Osamu chuckles, so amused by what's happening. One is intensely calm and the other one is a blubbering mess. Are Tokyo people this weird? Or is it just them?

"Yea, I guess it does explain, huh? 'Tsumu has been eating my food for free. He should do at least do somethin' with his good fer nothin' ass."

That seemed to have made Tenma laugh and it seemed to have loosened him up. His shoulders had dropped and he proceeded to talk in a more friendly tone. They--he and Tenma, with Akaashi quietly eating and nodding at the side--pleasantly talked throughout lunch. Together, they talked through their past in high school and reminisced with volleyball.

When their bowls were mostly empty and Tenma had chosen to go to the washroom, Akaashi had finally decided to speak.

"Uhm, Miya-san?"

"Hey, he finally speaks." Osamu smiles as he puts both of his elbows on the table, his arms crossed as he leans forward, closing in the distance between them.

"Sorry about that. I was just hungry," Akaashi responds briefly. Still looking as unbothered as he was, clearly unaware he has bits of rice stuck on his cheek.

"Hmmm...?" Osamu decides not to say anything about it yet.

"About earlier, I'd like to apologize for acting so familiar with you."

Osamu chuckles.

"Was that 'ta real reason ya were quiet 'ta whole time?" Osamu teased.

"No. I was really just hungry," Akaashi replies bluntly.

Osamu leers, uncrosses his other arm as he smirks as he gets his glass of water and swirls it around.

"What about 'ta meetin though?"

"What about it?"

"Shouldn't ya apologize also for buttin' in?"

"..."

"Ah, nevermind 'in." Osamu looks away, supposing he will never get the answer from him. "Thank ya, anyway... for er, not letting me drown earlier."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Akaashi still denies.

Osamu smirks and proceeds to eat his last few bites of gyuudon.

"...Thank you also for worrying, earlier. I'm sorry you had to see that."

Deciding that he would return all the favors, Osamu had chosen to sweep it all under the rug.

"Ya have rice on yer face by the way."

"Oh." He taps around his face to find the missing grain of rice. Only to leave more grains in other parts of his cheeks. He's like a child, honestly.

_What a messy eater._

Osamu lays his elbow on the table and cups his own cheek, setting up to watch Akaashi struggle with his battle with rice. He only managed to have a glimpse of his features from afar. But now, in arms reach, he sees. Osamu is stricken by what is before him. A warm balloon of feelings swells inside him. He felt like he discovered a treasure.

Behind the horn-rimmed glasses were a pair of deep-set eyes. Cat-like and downcasted from shame, they hold a sea storm inside. His long, spider-like eyelashes touch the curve of his full and rosied cheeks each time he bats them. His eyebrows, like his, were thick but they were short and extremely expressive.

His hands were as white and smooth as silk. His fingers were long and delicate and elegant. Nails were the softest blush of pink. The tips of his fingers looked ethereal. They look so soft to hold. So warm to touch. Pretty, pretty setter hands.

Akaashi becomes flustered. Red. He gets frustrated because he knows he's being mocked and that there's still some left. Like the small nubs of gluten, embarrassment sticks to him fiercely. He puts his hands down his lap and stares at the bowl, heaving.

"Ya still got some around 'ere." Osamu gestures and points to his whole face. He knows he's being a lil shit but he can't help it.

Scarlet. Akaashi wordlessly shoots up and walks away. He bumps into Tenma who just got out of the restroom.

"What happened to him?" Tenma asked, still wiping his hands dry with the handkerchief.

Osamu shrugs and continues to finish his bowl.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷~☼~⊶⊷

"So... Miya-san--" Tenma started. They're now outside the restaurant, full from their meal.

"Osamu. Call me Osamu." He says warmly.

"Oh okay, Osamu-san. How long do you plan to stay here in Tokyo? Maybe you'd like to have more company during meals? Dinners?" Tenma offers.

"Tenma-san, you really don't have the time to play host. You have two chapters to revise by Sunday." Akaashi bluntly reminded him.

_Is he still mad?_

"But Akaashi?! He's not used to the city! Tokyo is such a scary place... like you." Tenma murmured the last bits but Osamu is sure Akaashi heard that.

"I'm sure Miya-san--"

"Osamu." He chimed in.

"Miya- _san--_ has a lot of things to reconsider from his business meetings. He wouldn't need us to bother him."

"Hahaha, 'so cold."

"See! You're being cold to him Akaashi!"

Akaashi threw him a glance. Probably checking if he really offended him. He saw the smug face and he furrowed his eyebrows further. The storm in his ocean eyes got stronger.

_He's still mad. Haha._

"You're just using him as an excuse for your deadline, Tenma-san. Please stop making me look like a bad guy."

"I am not--!!"

Despite his much larger stature, he feels like a child being disputed for custody. He folds his arms as he waits for the court ruling.

"That's final, Tenma-san." He says that but he looks at Osamu sternly.

_He's really pouting._

"It's okay, Tenma-san. I can manage," Osamu leans a bit towards him and puts a hand on his shoulder.

"We can have dinner next time, when we're all free." He tries to reciprocate the look Akaashi had given him, but the corners of his lips betray him.

"We're leaving, Tenma-san. Say your goodbyes now. I want to be on the next train."

Akaashi starts to storm off, his coat turns with the cold gust of wind. The sharp bite of the freezing temperature had stopped for a moment, then when he visibly shook it off before he continued.

Osamu and Tenma looked at Akaashi's pitiful state before they properly bade each other farewell. When they've promised to text each other when they're free, they shook hands and started to walk to their own paths home.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶~☼~⊷

Today

**_Kita-sen_ **

_Good luck today.  
_[4:37AM]

 _Mornin'. Hope yer crops are doin' well. Will let'cha know how it works out. Later.  
_[8:16AM]

 _Meetin was alright. They were annoyin' tho._ _  
_ [2:37PM]

He ponders. He adds.

_I met people from high school. We saw them during nationals.  
_[2:43PM]

 _It was fun.  
_[2:45PM]

_I am glad to hear that._  
[7:38PM]

 _Eat yer dinner._  
[7:39PM]

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷~☼~

A chime breaks the silence.

He cracks an eye.

Morning light peeks into his room. He follows its trail right up to where the light touches the walls. Weird, even for him. Wallpaper has never looked this mesmerizing to him before. Its color, upon first seeing it today, was still a dull shade of grey but it seems so warm.

He walks up again to the tiny sink of the tiny bathroom. He sees his reflection and for the first time since he chose this path, he found an answer.

_Settin' up on Tokyo will make me happy._

·

·

·

~~☼⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷☼~~

END OF CHAPTER 1

  
  
  
  


  
  


**Author's Note:**

> *drinks a whole glass of water*  
> This is my first fic so I hope it was good enough for you guys to read through since this will be a long, long journey. 
> 
> AH!  
> Haha so that’s the first chapter.. Is it too much? *swts*  
> This will be a slow, slow burn so… haha. I’d try to make it a regular weekly(?) thing. Please notice the big, fat, emphasis on TRY. At this stage of my life, I'm sad to say that both my time and my vocabulary are very limited. And, like Osamu there, we both suck at prose.
> 
> My Head canons:  
> \- Inarizaki is a private school!  
> \- I have no idea how leasing in Japan/Tokyo works. I just have some rough data on it from the Japan vloggers I watch on YouTube.  
> \- Yes, I made the Miya twins spoiled rich kids and sons of a shrine keeper. I thought it made sense because no poor person would act that privileged (I’m looking at you, Atsumu.)  
> \- IDK if shrine keepers are really rich tho. I just see them in the manga and some of them (when they do dubious things) are rich. So please..... don't throw stones at me.
> 
> S/O to  
> my IRLs you Osamu f*ckers. thank you for supporting me.  
> Midori for teaching me the secrets of Rich Text  
> my other author friends and moots for inspiring me to do this  
> my platonic soulmate ree for giving me the idea of fireflies and beta-ing my outline. she really just said there's a firefly in my room and my brain whirred.  
> HBF for being supportive even though she's not an HQ stan, she betaed my chapter.
> 
> Disclaimers:  
> I'm not Japanese nor have I went to Japan. So I'm not sure about the depictions I've put here. *shows creative license* So please take this with a grain of salt. Swallow that salt if you have to.
> 
> You can holler me at twt!  
> @artamiest


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